Quiet Mornings
It's Saturday morning and I'm working on putting together painting estimates. Due to the current Coronavirus pandemic, it seems like a waste of time - who is going to want to have their house painted if buying toilet paper is an uncertainty? And how would I even paint a house if my paint store is closed, or if the shutdowns become even more strict?
My wife, Shelbey, is working from home, fielding calls about loans and dealing with all of the uncertainty as well. Our pup, Gus, is sleeping on the couch and showing off his quarantine skills since he does this shit every time we leave the house. There's a feeling of normalcy in the air because we're all together, however, that feeling fades whenever we think about the outside world.
I had no intention of writing about this virus for this first post. The whole idea for this blog came from watching Shelbey find a new love - photography. I saw how much joy she got from it after she bought a camera and began learning about the craft. And I saw the natural talent she had - you can see it in her earliest shots.
So I had this idea in late December that involved bringing her images together with my stories. I had fallen out of love with writing after college when a journalism job became hard to find. But this new idea had me writing again. And there's a throughline in these pieces - change.
I'm getting older, rapidly approaching 30. We have our first home and a puppy that we adore. We're becoming functioning young adults (for the most part), and we're trying to navigate everything that comes with that. It's been a learning process for us both, but we're taking it one day at a time.
And we're doing it together.
It's simple: my words and her photos. Hopefully you'll get a little bit of entertainment out of everything coming together. Like this for example:
I woke up the other day and Shelbey had already taken Gus for a walk. What I didn't know is that she had also taken some pictures of Gus and the quiet morning they had encountered. It had rained, Gus was wet, and all of that made for beautiful photos.
Things are changing all around us. But mornings are still coming, and my wife found some peace in that fact and decided to document it. I, in turn, found peace in the moments she captured and decided to write about it.
That might just be how hope works.
My wife, Shelbey, is working from home, fielding calls about loans and dealing with all of the uncertainty as well. Our pup, Gus, is sleeping on the couch and showing off his quarantine skills since he does this shit every time we leave the house. There's a feeling of normalcy in the air because we're all together, however, that feeling fades whenever we think about the outside world.
I had no intention of writing about this virus for this first post. The whole idea for this blog came from watching Shelbey find a new love - photography. I saw how much joy she got from it after she bought a camera and began learning about the craft. And I saw the natural talent she had - you can see it in her earliest shots.
So I had this idea in late December that involved bringing her images together with my stories. I had fallen out of love with writing after college when a journalism job became hard to find. But this new idea had me writing again. And there's a throughline in these pieces - change.
I'm getting older, rapidly approaching 30. We have our first home and a puppy that we adore. We're becoming functioning young adults (for the most part), and we're trying to navigate everything that comes with that. It's been a learning process for us both, but we're taking it one day at a time.
And we're doing it together.
It's simple: my words and her photos. Hopefully you'll get a little bit of entertainment out of everything coming together. Like this for example:
I woke up the other day and Shelbey had already taken Gus for a walk. What I didn't know is that she had also taken some pictures of Gus and the quiet morning they had encountered. It had rained, Gus was wet, and all of that made for beautiful photos.
Things are changing all around us. But mornings are still coming, and my wife found some peace in that fact and decided to document it. I, in turn, found peace in the moments she captured and decided to write about it.
That might just be how hope works.
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